Journeys From The Journey -
Textile Narratives
A Sister’s View of Heaven
I thought I was caring for
my sister,
but I was being led
up the mountain
to view the meaning of life
from His high place.
There, in the cost of love,
I learned that life is revealed
through what we
are willing to carry,
as the heaviest challenges
often come with the
biggest lifetime rewards.
I cannot lead anyone forward
unless I am willing to return
to what has shaped us both.
It is in the knowing of
another's heart song that
you understand their perspectives.
God told me my purpose was to,
“Tell them who they are”—
and I knew that as identity.
Then He said,
“I will show them who I AM”—
and I received it as revelation.
In the valley and
on the mountain,
I saw that the challenge
is the blessing, because
it unveils us and reveals Him.
So I go back
only to gather what is true, and
I move forward in the fullness
of who we are and
who He is.
In St. Gallen, Switzerland,
the hills were alive with the
sound of her melodious voice.
The colors of the
sky and sea,
were her eyes
looking back at me.
Earth tones reflected in
her radiant face,
as I stood in awe of the
Glory of God. -E.H.
His Story is in His Name
A No-man’s land is that
space between
two dominant worlds.
HARDLY RECOGNIZED AND HIDDEN
in plain sight with
no flag to unfurl.
A Nomanslandian is a person that looks
like nobody in particular
and everybody, in general.
Barely visible until the need to be
somebody’s criminal.
Nomanslandians are a people,
caught in the middle of a war;
a war of contrite-partitions.
A war that leaves all else torn,
And always something left missing
Nomanslandians are nomads
in their own home.
Living in the land of hims and hers,
Hymnals and hyenas,
Crowns and Tomes.
What’s the difference between
a black and a white?
Well, here the takeaway is grey,
Grey is the only color
Nomanslandians can see,
whether it be night or it be day.
That makes Nomanslandians color blind,
colorblind to you, colorblind to me
unable to distinguish
the fly from
the bee.
Hey Boy!
“What you is? Who you belongin’to!
Speak now or forever –
never be at peace.”
“Life dis struggle, believe wat I’s says,
you know I knows,
I knows you be in Dey house.
I’s knows you-be foldin’ Dey sheets”…
White or Black?
I am made to choose.
If I was to choose wrong,
but for that choice I lose.
“A job you want,
well I think you might pass,
but let’s have an understanding,
I can’t have my people to laugh”.
“We should talk, you & I,
let me see if you’re a threat.
From whence do you hail,
what’s your pedigree,
from the looks of your hair
it seems, your back could be wet.”
“Your English sounds different,
you say you’re from where?
Oh boy, by the way,
what is with, your hair?”
“Speak to me
now allow me to assess our grade,
do you call yourself nigger?
you got a gun?
should I be afraid?”
White or Black?
How must I act, dress or speak?
Thusly is dependent on
who is around,
where we are found or
whether the situation is
detrimental,
fortuitous, or
bleak.
Nomanslandians change like the wind;
a chameleon’s life
always trying to blend.
A lonely life where the conflicts are
from within.
A life that breaks
at the convenience of others,
an easy target that
culminates from all colors.
The colors that matter are
the ones that we bleed.
From the days of yesteryear,
Nomanslandians know
the truth of the contrite- and,
all that others don’t see.
Speak my name you might hear my call
Looking back at it to see….
what tells the tale, spells it all.
If you remembered my name
and can spell it out
You’ll find my (intransitive)
pose was never a prose,
but flipped
and my script from birth says:
I was born without.
My name is spelled D_A_M_O_N
and now if you spell it backwards,
you now can see where I have been.
I am a Nomanslandian, thru and thru
I’ve come to terms with
history and my past.
You?
I understand that
you all may not be the same,
Believe me when I say,
I am here to listen
if ever you feel the need to
tell me your name.
-D.R.
